A Fellow Follower
by June Meadows
Summary: Athelstan wanders near the docks and discovers a fellow follower in faith. Quick blurb.


A Fellow Follower

He saw her from across the way. Bound by the wrists she was lashed to a wooden post, kneeling in the mud that soiled her once white habit. Her black head covering was askew and ripped, flecks of golden hair spilling out and covering her face. A nun. All at once memories of a life long past flooded his memories. Smells of clean soap, the coolness of rock walls and the echoes of voices lifted in harmonious praise to a god unheard of in this pagan wilderness.

He slowly moved towards her in a trance, his heart pounding in his chest. He dodged fellow tradesman and livestock, his eyes focused on the woman forced to kneel in the mud.

When he finally stood close to her, she did not stir. Her head was lowered, her eyes closed. For a moment, it looked as if she were sleeping peacefully, an angel of light in this dark place, but all to soon the magic was broken.

"Get up!" growled an angry and stench-ridden man. His hair was long and greasy, save for the ever glowing dome on the top. His beard was long and tangled, stained with wine and food. He had overfed, overdrunk and Athelstan hated him.

Instantly the angel's eyes snapped open, eyes of a cold hard blue, glinting like steel. She looked up with Athelstan with such fury and hatred that he stepped back in awe. She continued to stare up at him, her eyes defiant and strong.

"Get up bitch," the Viking roared snatching her by the back of her headdress. With back arched and a faint glint of pain-called tears in her eyes, the nun slowly stood, her wrists scrapping along the rough wood. The Viking shoved her head away from his hand, the headdress now falling off to reveal a long, beautiful tresses of gold, richer than the most precious horde. The Viking busied himself, sniffling and grunting with exertion as he fought the tightly bound ropes. The nun turned her hateful gaze upon the Viking, her body slightly trembling like a wounded animal.

As soon as the rope was free, before the Viking could snatch it in his hand, the nun pulled back her hands and smacked the ugly man across the face, full force. It was a foolish move, a stupid strike but brave. The Viking stood stunned for a moment before with the roar of a bear woken up from it's winter sleep reached out for her. The woman tried to step away but instead tripped on her soiled habit, landing painfully over her back in the mud. Before Athelstan realized it, the man was on top of her, striking her angelic faces with angry fists and threatening far worse.

Something came over Athelstan then, something that he seldom had experienced in his life past. Rage. With swift steps and a flash of steel, Athelstan barreled the man off of the woman, his strength made greater by wrath. He found his blade at the Vikings throat, his voice dark as he spoke the Viking tongue.

"Leave her alone." Athelstan heard a crowd gather around him and a scuffle with a painful cry as several men laid hands on the woman, holding her fast so that she did not run. The Viking, stinking in the mud like the pig that he was, was mindful of the blade at his throat, but spoke harshly.

"I can do with her what I want. She is my prize for the latest raid. You would tell a man what to do with his own things?"

"She is not a prize," Athelstan shouted angrily, bitterness in his voice.

"What have we hear?" A calm voice murmured. The Viking on the ground's face when white for a moment then flashed with confidence. Athelstan turned slowly to face his liege-lord, Ragnar. Ragnar entered the circle that the crowd had created with ease, a swagger and manner that commanded respect about him. He slowly circled the woman, now held in the hands of two others, her face held high and defiant still.

"Lord Ragnar, this man is denying me my rights to my own property." The Viking on the ground spat.

"He was going to beat her to death," Athelstan jutted in. Ragnar nodded once, still circling, his chin in his hands like a pupil trying to figure out a difficult sum.

"She's pretty," was all he said, reaching out to touch the woman's gold hair. He was met with a snarl and a very impressive attempt to land her teeth into his hands, but she was restrained. Ragnar held up his hands in apology to the woman before turning to the two combatants.

"Why do you want her Priest?"

"I never said I wanted her," Athelstan defended. Ragnar raised one brow and gave a smile that showed he did not believe a word of it.

"If what this man says is true, then she is his property. Which means….he can do what he likes." Athelstan squirmed uncomfortably, the man on the ground making to rise. "However," Ragnar said, holding up a hand and addressing the crowd, "If you want her badly enough, you may claim her."

Athelstan's eyes narrowed. "And how should I do that?"

Ragnar shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing to difficult." He looked around to the crowd, his pause long before a grin widened on his face. "Just a fight to the death."


End file.
